CHAPTER 1
15 YEARS OLD
15 years old
Moved.
Again.
Perpetually the new kid, over and over.
I’ve learned that it’s just not worth getting close to anyone because social services will move me in a few months anyway. There’s just…no changing it either. I get my hopes up that maybe this is it, maybe they’ll let me stay, and then I’m moved.
The foster family I’m with will get tired of me soon enough, and I’ll be shipped off to the next round of people who think they can raise me. Then, the cycle will start all over.
Haven Hammer’s, what a fucking joke of a mascot. A hammer. Not even like Thor’s hammer, just a regular hammer you’d find in any toolbox. I’m almost embarrassed for them.
It’s not the first time I’ve lived in Haven, but it is the first time in this area, this school district. It’s a bit of a better income area, but I don’t really care. I just need to survive a year.
With the new backpack Becky, my new foster mom, gave me this morning over my shoulder, I take a deep breath, shake my head and make my way through the clean but boring hallway. Lockers line each wall and there’s worn dark blue carpet under my feet.
Looking at the class schedule in my hand the receptionist handed to me this morning, I search for room 403. Homeroom.
I’ll be starting my days in this room for the foreseeable future.
399, 401, ah—403.
Before I open the door, I steady myself.They’re all going to stare, just show them it doesn’t bother you.Nodding to myself, I make sure my hoop earrings are sitting flat and twist the leather cord I always wear tied to my wrist.
Here goes nothing.
I should be used to it by now. Used to everyone stopping and staring when I open the door, but it’s still unnerving. The kids always gawk, the teacher barely notices, and that’s when the whispers start.
“Yes?” the teacher barks at me, making me get my ass in gear. Moving towards his desk, I go to explain my existence.
“I’m Roxie, Roxie Westin. The new student. I’ll be in your homeroom for the rest of the year,” I say, handing him my schedule as proof and moving my black hair off my shoulder, standing tall and strong. I’m not going to let anyone think I’m meek.
I’m Roxie fucking Westin, I’m a badass fucking queen.
“So I see,” the teacher, Mr. Jones, says. “Go find a seat and get started on some homework.”
I sigh in relief, he’s not going to make me do the fucking awkward ‘stand in the front of the class and introduce myself before we play twenty questions.’
I fuckinghatewhen teachers make me do that.
“Got it,” I say quickly, taking my schedule back and stuffing it into my oversized sweatshirt pocket. There aren’t a lot of other students in the room, probably why they had me join this class.
That’s good with me. The less I have to interact with people, the better. There’s a few girls huddled together in desks towards the front of the class, and they stare at me, probably wondering if I’m going to sit with them.
I think the fuck not.
I pass them, looking to the other side of the aisle. There’s an obvious jock, sleeping with his mouth wide open.
Nope.
There’s a guy about my age, but he looks a little older, sitting in the second to last chair in the back row. He’s hunched over his desk, sketching it looks like, with a black hoodie pulled over his head.
Looks like a loner to me. Jackpot.
